


Under the Milky Way

by menkhusteeth



Category: Pathologic
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Minor Blood Kink, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24333049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menkhusteeth/pseuds/menkhusteeth
Summary: A bachelor and a haruspex in the Steppe...what will they do?Also unoriginal title 'cause I was listening to that song writing the smut.
Relationships: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky
Kudos: 40





	Under the Milky Way

If there was one thing former ‘Bachelor’ Daniil Dankovsky wouldn’t have considered—it was marriage. If he had told his younger self he’d marry a Warden in the Steppe, younger Dankovsky would’ve scoffed and claimed him to be mad, then resume lectures and procure patients for his research on mortal longevity.

Far behind them, the Town-on-Gorkhon dimly lit by the sparse street lamps seemed to be mere specks on the horizon. Sitting atop a bull, his bare hands brushed against its dark brown pelt in a soothing manner. Underneath his fingers, the glossy coat felt somewhat oily and dry, yet he continued to drag his palm along the bull in a slow and steady movement; like Artemy had shown him before.

Even as the sky full of stars above them danced with one another and twinkled, a part of Daniil struggled to fully come to terms with the life he would lead now, with Artemy Burakh as his husband.

Artemy, the menkhu, the surgeon, the man who believed in the will of choice, and single-handedly upheld his father’s oath. The man who, when they first met, Daniil Dankovsky had despised with every fiber of his being. Yet a handful of hours ago, the ‘’bachelor’’ had partaken in a ritual allowing him to be accepted as the warden’s right-hand, and in retrospect Daniil had made Artemy his left.

Ever since they left the town, the husbands hardly spoke a word with one another. It made Daniil grow restless as the minutes ticked away, for he didn’t know what was to come next, and this he despised. It made him feel vulnerable and clueless—two unenjoyable feelings he’d had his fair share of during the outbreak.

“How long must we travel, Burakh? Are you not exhausted?” Daniil finally asked, looking to his husband’s silhouette, leading the bull with a leather tether.

“Be patient, emshem.” The menkhu replied. “Just a bit farther ahead now.” Artemy remained intently focused on the vast and unpopulated grasslands that lay before them, patting the bull’s muzzle while tenderly gesturing it ahead. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, even as the darkened sky decorated with Bos Turokh’s lines and a gentle, cold breeze greeted the traveling men.

Daniil found himself looking up to the sky once more, bringing his shawl closer to his body—one of the hand-made wedding gifts given to him by Katerina Saburova. Above him, his eyes became lost in the yellow sigils painting the sky, a phenomenon that shocked him when he’d first arrived. Due to the behest of local populace, unsurprisingly this turned out to be a common, though rare coincidence. 

Aside from the steady crunching of the ground beneath the bull’s hooves and Artemy’s shoes, the steppe still and quiet otherwise. It gave Daniil time to think of how much he secretly admired the environment around him. Younger Dankovsky wouldn’t have understood the beauty that lay within the sky, especially now. He had become a non-believer that had metamorphosed into something greater, filled with potential to start anew; to study his research in an environment of miracles.

Inside the center of the yurt, small bursts of orange and yellow danced together; providing the newly wedded couple with heat despite the coldness of the rural steppe that seeped its way in. A few rugs shaded in maroons and light browns decorated the grassy-ground beneath them, providing the couple with a cushioned place to sit. Artemy had changed into his normal garb, hanging his ceremonial wedding clothes on a supportive wooden beam that hung low enough for him to reach.  
On the other hand, Daniil continued wearing his shawl, bundling himself up with it and taking in the now-comforting scent of herbs and grasslands. Goosebumps littered his skin, and he found himself nestling closer to Artemy’s naturally warm, bulky body.

His husband looked down at him, puzzled. “Oynon, you’re shivering…”

“I know.” Daniil muttered, ignoring the chattering of his teeth. “I can’t help it—we’re so far from everyone. I’ve never been in a place like this before. Back in the capitol things were much warmer.” he muttered.

Artemy let out a breath from his nose, a faint smile tracing his lips. His blue eyes remained fixated on the small fire pit in front of them, watching the flames envelop one another as if they were starved dogs—entangling, growing, and eventually dissipating—only to be reborn again in vibrant yellows and reds.“You’ll get used to it. For the next four days, it is only you and I, oynon.” The menkhu finally replied.

“Whatever shall we do with ourselves, _darling_?” Daniil rolled his eyes, burrowing himself into the bigger man’s warmer frame. “By the end of this, we’ll be two delirious men trying not to kill each other.”

“Don’t say such things, erdem.” Artemy huffed, lightly squeezing the smaller male. “We’ve long since moved past that phase.” The brunet loomed over Daniil, before teasingly nipping at his ear.

“...Thank you for the observation. It should be valuable for my research.” Daniil replied, closing his eyes.

Silence fell over the two as they watched the flames, and soon the excitement of the past day lingered in their exhausted limbs, yet their hearts were full and the newlyweds knew a few days alone granted them ample opportunity to enjoy one another before resuming their routine lives.

By the time the pit had become mere embers, the couple had lain down on a sleeping mat, entangled in each other's arms. Artemy pressed his lips to the back of Daniil’s head, his bare torso pressing into the bachelor’s back. Within the darkness, they could feel their hearts racing.

“Daniil…” The menkhu’s voice was quiet and low. “Before we rest, there’s one thing I have yet to ask.”

Opening his eyes, Daniil could feel a familiar fluttering in his chest. Anticipation bubbled in his stomach. “Whatever could it be, Artemy Burakh?”

The menkhu’s breath halted from within the darkness. “I’m saying this as one man to another, oynon.” Pausing, he found himself withholding the question.

“Well then. It’s impolite to keep me waiting, Burakh.” Daniil huffed, letting out a sharp exhale from his nose. Anticipation hung heavy in the air, clawing at the walls of the yurt; manifestations of Daniil’s impatience.

“Will you have me? I need your touch, erdem.” The words rolled off Artemy’s tongue, a provocative brusque that seemed unfamiliar to the bachelor’s ears. It made his heart nearly skip a beat.

“...I thought you’d never ask.” His voice quiet, Daniil turned onto his side to face Artemy within the darkness. He could barely make out the younger male’s features, but he didn’t have to; for Dankovsky had memorized the pattern of his flesh, the hue of his eyes, the subtle movements of his facial muscles. This time, it was Daniil who placed his hands on the nape of Artemy’s neck, pressing himself into the other male’s body. 

Artemy froze slightly, unused to his husband’s movement, but he clutched onto Daniil’s hip and held him tightly. Daniil applied more pressure, desperately wanting to become one with the other man. His lips hungrily grazed the menkhu’s chapped lips.

At first, Burakh seemed to treat his husband gently, but after Daniil’s eagerness, he too began to envelop himself in the other male, his teeth grazing the bachelor’s lower lip. In response, Daniil slightly parted his lips, allowing Artemy to sink his teeth into the flesh. The metallic taste of Daniil’s blood filled both of their mouths, and Artemy pulled away, lightly lapping it up with his tongue.“Oynon, I _want_ you. I don’t think I can handle your coy teasing any longer…”

“My, what a brute you are, Artemy.” Daniil traced his fingers along the outline of his husband’s jaw, listening to the quiet sound of Artemy’s raspy breathing. “You’ve given me no choice but to drag this out. I’m going to milk you for all that you have, _emshem_. I want you to desecrate me—every inch of this body I call my own, that of which is now yours.”

Immediately, Artemy reached for Daniil’s wrist and pinned him down. Within the darkness, Artemy couldn’t see his husband, but he wondered what sultry expression the bachelor made underneath him. He tightened his grip on the smaller male’s wrists, eliciting a low moan from Daniil.

“What is it you intend to do to me, Burakh?” Daniil spoke, shivering with the anticipation at just _what_ his husband would do next. Given he had come to understand the menkhu’s habits, he had a few possible scenarios in mind. It made his head spin with lust, the deprivation of light enhancing bodily sensations.

“Trying to get a rise out of me, bachelor?” Artemy hissed, letting go of Daniil’s wrists. “And just a moment ago you were the one teasing me. I’ll give you a taste of your own medicine.”

Once again, their lips made contact and they continued to hungrily devour one another, Daniil forcing his tongue in between his husband’s lips. The reminiscent taste of his blood caused Daniil’s skin to crawl with goosebumps. Despite Artemy’s tight grip, he relented as Daniil raised his arms, sinking his hands into the menkhu’s shoulders.

In return, Artemy’s hands made their way down the bachelor’s torso, sinking into his sides. His back stung as Daniil dragged his fingers down, leaving bright red streaks in their wake. The menkhu was indifferent to pain, yet a spark had ignited. His head swarmed with lustful thoughts of his beloved, and he pulled away from the kiss, catching his breath.

Daniil pressed his lips to Artemy’s jaw, closing his eyes and taking in the familiar autumn scent that his husband emitted. His hands snaked their way around his husband’s neck, caressing the skin tenderly.

After the initial bout of arousal and minor touching, their adrenaline rush calmed significantly. For a moment, they held each other, listening to the other breathe from within the comforting darkness. Daniil caressed his husband’s neck, pressing his lips to Artemy’s jaw. In return, the menkhu hugged Daniil’s body closer.

Artemy and Daniil had their fair share of intimate moments; but it never surpassed using only their hands and mouths to stimulate one another. Though the two mutually didn’t feel penetration was a necessity, Burakh held his own anxieties. Artemy’s willingness to progress to the “next” stage of their bedroom life had plagued his mind in the days leading up to tonight, but he held himself back. He had never been ashamed of his attraction towards Daniil, but a part of Artemy felt he didn’t deserve the reward of sexual indulgence.

However, Daniil could read the metaphorical room. The heaviness in the air had been centered on Artemy all evening, even as they’d made their way through the steppe. Dankovsky understood Burakh well enough to know that the menkhu—in his stubbornness—would hold his tongue unless provoked.

“Is something on your mind, Burakh?” Daniil asked, propping his head up with his hand. He could hear Artemy let out an amused huff.

“No no, Danko…” Taking in a breath, Artemy’s mind swarmed with turbulent forces: chastity and deprivation, lust and desire. Two contradictions that could somehow exist both separately and together.

“Perhaps I didn’t speak clearly: Something _is_ on your mind.” Pressing his hand to Artemy’s chest, Daniil traced his fingers along the curvature of the other male’s torso, the muscle barely containing the pulse of his husband’s increasing heart rate.

At that point, Artemy knew that Daniil wouldn’t take silence for an answer. Daniil Dankovsky could be a man of action—yet he didn’t take too kindly to prying answers out of others needlessly. So Artemy might as well give in to the other man’s pressing curiosity, given that they were “one” as of that day. Their lines had merged into an artery, two halves that were now a whole. 

“Let me claim you as my husband.” Artemy murmured, his voice husky. He propped himself up before Daniil could reply, covering the bachelor’s mouth with his hand. “Please, Danko.”

Puzzled by Artemy’s sudden confession, Daniil couldn’t help but pry into why his husband felt as if he had to withhold his desires. Though he theorized this could be due to the town’s natural superstition, Daniil wondered if this stemmed from something else.

Gripping Artemy’s wrist, Daniil removed the bigger man’s calloused palm from his mouth. “I don’t see why you have to make such a dramatic reveal of it. These feelings are perfectly natural and I—” The bachelor trailed off, sinking into the warm and comforting touch of Artemy’s hand that now caressed his neck. Biting into his lower lip, Daniil kept a firm grip on Artemy’s wrist, afraid to let go and ruin the delicacy of the moment.

“Yes, Danko?” Artemy urged his husband onward, yet his tone reminded Daniil of a desert he had yet to indulge himself in.

“...I was only going to say that I’ve had my thoughts, my own desires too. You never seemed ready so I avoided pushing the matter. But I want this as much as you do, if not more.” Daniil felt as if he were purring his reply. He closed his eyes and savored the sensation of Artemy’s fingers caressing the nape of his neck. “You of all people would understand that I’m not some fragile doll. I am more than capable.”

Taken aback by Daniil’s forwardness, Artemy felt a loss for words. Upon feeling Daniil roughly press his lips against his pec, a warm tide of blood rushed into his head as a small breath escaped from him. “You probably haven’t heard, but copulation in the town is usually only—ah!”

Daniil’s lips curled into a smirk against Artemy’s skin, and the menkhu felt embarrassed for his outburst. “Oh, I know that superstition very well, Artemy.” The bachelor teased.

Artemy tightened his grip on Daniil’s neck, caressing his head as the older male attentively kissed every inch of his chest. He could only bite into the flesh of his cheek in an effort to hold back his moans.

Within the darkness, the bachelor hungrily pressed his mouth against Artemy’s neck. The comforting scent of autumn and leaves filled him with a sense of familiarity. “I know you better than you think, erdem. You needn’t hold yourself back. What would a wedding night be without consummating?”

“I know that…” Burakh disliked it when Dankovsky played him for the likes of a naive child.

Daniil adjusted their position, having pressed Artemy’s back against the sleeping mat. He sat on top of Artemy, and traced his hand along the outlines of Artemy’s torso. His fingers grazed over where the mencku's skin folded over pecs, even the outlines of his clavicles. This wasn’t a medical examination, not at all, but the bachelor hoped to get a rise out of the Kin’s Warden.

Artemy attuned to just how smooth Daniil’s hands were in comparison to his own. This stemmed from a variety of factors, more notably Daniil’s penchant for wearing gloves. The bachelor also showed great care towards his appearance, including keeping his skin soft. Butterflies churned in Artemy’s chest, his heart would have burst from his rib cage at the electrifying feel of Daniil touching him. This electrification traced his skin as the bachelor’s hand moved lower, and lower.

Once Daniil’s hand made contact with Artemy’s happy trail, a slow rhythmic pulsing echoed in his groin that became more and more apparent. The menkhu let out a low hiss, his back arching slightly.

A sly grin traced Daniil’s lips as he understood Artemy had finally let go of the reigns. There was a sense of satisfaction in having Artemy wrapped around his finger.

“Well-?” Artemy spoke breathlessly. He preferred to envision the glint of victory in the bachelor’s brown eyes, but being unable to make out his features in the deep blue hues of night, Artemy stared endlessly. “It’s over for me. You won.”

“Not yet, Burakh. Not yet.” Daniil carefully lifted himself off of Artemy’s warmth, reaching blindly for their supplies. Earlier that day,the couple had been given oil by an unknown benefactor. A wedding gift—probably from Andrey—Daniil only had to find that small glass bottle. Moving aside canteens and small packages that shifted somewhat haphazardly, his palm made contact with a cold, smooth surface.

“My, to think of how much we’ll need to break friction...that doesn’t matter now. Wouldn’t you agree, _erdem?_ ” Daniil’s velvety voice might as well have sent Artemy into a daze. Upon Daniil’s slick, wet hand coating his hardened base; Artemy could taste the iron in his mouth from sinking his teeth into his lower lip, withdrawing droplets of blood. It was the only way to keep himself from falling into an unfamiliar lust.

Daniil couldn’t help but enjoy stripping Artemy down into a vulnerable mess, for the menkhu could hardly contain his low moans . His slick hand rubbed on the younger man’s hefty size, using his fingers to tease the tip and hopefully work Artemy up. Based on the low and heavy breaths that filled the yurt, the other man might as well have ascended towards a higher level than the Powers That Be.  
Upon removing his hand from Artemy’s body, Daniil reached for the glass and dumped a thick glob of oil onto his palm. He slowly rubbed his hands together and made sure his fingers were wet, moving his hand down towards his backside.

“What’re you doing, Danko? Why’d you stop-?” The menkhu’s voice, weak and hoarse, pleaded.

“Think I’d let you have all the fun, Burakh? No, I have to take myself into consideration too.” The bachelor replied in exasperation, shuddering at the sensation of cold wet fingers entering his body.

It took him a few minutes of trial and error, given that Daniil had never been in this position before. Though the oil helped, it still felt painful to press his fingers against his walls, lathering his entrance in an effort to relax himself. Artemy was big, and there was no room for miscalculation: it would already be painful for the first time. All was silent except for the halted breathing of Daniil, irregular as pressure flooded his abdomen and groin.

“Artemy...I think I’m ready.” Daniil murmured, shuddering as he removed his hands. “It might be painful, so might I remind you to keep hold of yourself. This is new to me.”

The menkhu didn’t reply, sinking his hands into the bachelor’s waist and drinking in his husband’s presence; the reality that Daniil Dankovsky’s body was his. Artemy allowed himself the moment to silently admire the subtle protrusion of his hips, the way his skin folded over bone and muscle, the subtle distribution of fat that had pocketed itself on Daniil’s abdomen. The bachelor had certainly gained a healthy amount of weight since the near-starvation that came with being on the frontlines of the Sand Pest.

Pressing his palm against Artemy’s chest, Daniil leaned down and pressed his lips against Artemy’s sweat-covered forehead, a tender touch that Artemy devoured. The quiet breathing of the other male and the dull hymn of the Steppe enveloped Burakh’s senses, driving him wild. He couldn’t wait to be inside.

They adjusted their positions, with Daniil’s back against the sleeping-mat, shielded from the world by Artemy’s much bigger body above him. Hazy and absentmindedly, Daniil wrapped his arms around his husband’s neck, his fingers interlacing themselves in strand locks of hair. Wanting more of Artemy despite the pain that flooded his lower body, Daniil spread his legs as far apart as he could.

A fragmented breath left Daniil’s lips as Artemy slowly entered him. Time and existence became secondary forces of nature, for in that moment both men allowed themselves to enter a state of consciousness they could hardly find the words to describe. Ecstasy could barely grace the stepping stones of the emotion that swelled in their bodies as they fell into a steady rhythm.

“Take more of me, Artemy. Please.” Pressing his lips against his husband’s ear, Daniil could hardly concentrate on his own breathing. The events of the day slipped away from his fingers and into the depths of unconsciousness. His body trembled and shook with each thrust from Artemy, and each time he felt as if his body would tear apart at the seams. Though Burakh the menkhu could hypothetically stitch him back together, Dankovsky didn’t wish for that. He could feel his walls painfully tighten against Artemy, the pulse within him overriding all sensation in his lower body.

The bachelor’s whines and moans invigorated Artemy’s drive to push them even farther, his jaw clenching on itself to keep going, enticed by the bittersweet promise of orgasm. His hairs stood on end as Daniil’s nails made contact with his back, his fingers brushing over the bright red streaks he’d left earlier that now burned at the slightest touch.

Higher and higher, an electrifying feeling made its way up his abdomen and down towards the end of his dick until a tidal, turbulent wave subsided in his body. Though the pulsing ebbed away, he became aware of the world around them. The cosmos that elegantly traced his peripheral vision vanished immediately, leaving him and a panting Daniil trapped within the darkness of their marital yurt, the sounds of the Steppe returning to his ears once again.

Artemy began to adjust, but he could feel Daniil’s hand sink into the stinging flesh of his back.

“Please, don’t. Not yet.” Daniil choked out. “I want to enjoy this sensation for as long as I can.”

“Danko, you’re trembling.” Artemy huffed, sliding himself out of the other male slowly.

Daniil shivered, his insides both warm and wet with his husband’s semen. He curled up on his side, the cold night seeping through small tears in the yurt. With each breath, the ice-cold streams of air made their way down his bronchial tube, into the smallest crevices of his lungs and revitalised him into reality.

At his side, Artemy lay on his back. The soft breathing of Daniil told him that the bachelor had worn himself out, and exhaustion pulled at the haruspex’s fluttering eyelids. It had been a long day for the both of them, and the night’s pleasurable activities had only drained their remaining stamina.

Two men lay side by side in the vacant steppe, sheltered from the world by an assemblage of felt and sticks; a symbol of Artemy’s devotion to the city-man asleep next to him.


End file.
